He leaped to his feet, gazed about wildly--and disappeared! Yes--vanished from my sight like the snuffed flame of a candle or as though something moving with the speed of light itself had snatched him away! Then from the divan came the sounds of struggle, the hissing of straining breaths, the noise of Larry cursing. I leaped over the balustrade, drawing my own pistol--was caught in a pair of mighty arms, my elbows crushed to my sides, drawn down until my face pressed close to a broad, hairy breast--and through that obstacle--formless, shadowless, transparent as air itself--I could still see the battle on the divan! Now there were two sharp reports; the struggle abruptly ceased. From a point not a foot over the great couch, as though oozing from the air itself, blood began to drop, faster and ever faster, pouring out of nothingness. And out of that same air, now a dozen feet away, leaped the face of Larry--bodyless, poised six feet above the floor, blazing with rage--floating weirdly, uncannily to a hideous degree, in vacancy. His hands flashed out--armless; they wavered, appearing, disappearing--swiftly tearing something from him. Then there, feet hidden, stiff on legs that vanished at the ankles, striking out into vision with all the dizzy abruptness with which he had been stricken from sight was the O'Keefe, a smoking pistol in hand. And ever that red stream trickled out of vacancy and spread over the couch, dripping to the floor. I made a mighty movement to escape; was held more firmly--and then close to the face of Larry, flashing out with that terrifying instantaneousness even as had his, was the head of Yolara, as devilishly mocking as I had ever seen it, the cruelty shining through it like delicate white flames from hell--and beautiful! "Stir not! Strike not--until I command!" She flung the words beyond her, addressed to the invisible ones who had accompanied her; whose presences I sensed filling the chamber. The floating, beautiful head, crowned high with corn-silk hair, darted toward the Irishman. He took a swift step backward. The eyes of the priestess deepened toward purple; sparkled with malice. "So," she said. "So, _Larree_--you thought you could go from me so easily!" She laughed softly. "In my hidden hand I hold the _Keth_ cone," she murmured. "Before you can raise the death tube I can smite you--and will. And consider, _Larree_, if the handmaiden, the _choya_ comes, I can vanish--so"--the mocking head disappeared, burst forth again--"and slay her with the _Keth_--or bid my people seize her and bear her to the Shining One!" Tiny beads of sweat stood out on O'Keefe's forehead, and I knew he was thinking not of himself, but of Lakla. "What do you want with me, Yolara?" he asked hoarsely. "Nay," came the mocking voice. "Not Yolara to you, _Larree_--call me by those sweet names you taught me--Honey of the Wild Bee-e-s, Net of Hearts--" Again her laughter tinkled.